decided to write a novel a few years ago. All the friends are the protagonists. There is no difference between life and death, no foreign country, no beautiful coincidence, only the most ordinary and true story. Our story is like a memoir. In the days to come, as time passes by, our memories are no longer clear. Just look at this novel and once again, the old time has recently been serialized. I don��t know where the courage comes from, and then I get a lot. Friend's encouragement. The original heart is somewhat calm, but fortunately, no matter how bad the words are Cheap Cigarettes, you will always be encouraged. The meaning of this novel comes from you. If so, it will be perfect. Since the story started in 2001, I specially checked a lot of previous stories, listened to old songs, and missed those vague old times. Memories are a very hurtful thing. Every time, I will inevitably be in the middle of the night. When a person cries, but suppresses and dares not to make too loud a voice, there are two kinds of loneliness, one is loneliness, and the other is recollection. After careful recall, I found that those days were so colorful, and there were endless stories every day. Those laughter passed the years so vividly. I am a person who likes to cherish all things. I like to abuse myself. I have to be full of tears. The people who write can have such quirks. I look at my own words and cry, because the words in them are all Personal experience, those who are so beautiful and sad that only they can understand, deep youth, has always been a tear. Perhaps, some things have been doomed from the beginning. Like me in the past, how happy I was at that time, how much is now lost. God is fair, just as we all have to face death, we can't stop time, there are wonderful and dark. My friend asked me who the hero in my novel is, why everyone is a real name. I only laughed with the man and I didn't laugh. The male protagonist is a virtual character, or he is a combination of many people Cigarettes Online. I don't need a real name because I don't have such a beautiful love, and there is no final sad ending. Sometimes, when you write a sentence, or conceive a piece, you can't help but cry. Those sentences are what I said before. Those pieces are also traceable. When you think of it, you will realize that those beautiful things are true. It has become a memory Cigarettes For Sale. In the middle, there have been really ten years. Some feelings are really fragmented and beyond recognition. Sometimes I can't help but be moved when I look at the text I wrote a long time ago. Maybe it's just a very emotional feeling for others, but it is my true youth. It seems that I can't write such a sentence again, for a certain person to fly in a notebook, to imprint all the emotions of the green, and occasionally take a look at it and laugh at his passion. Everyone who has written a word knows that writing a novel, especially this real memoir, is like re-entering it back more than ten years ago, and once again going through the past and laughing, the former good, while Cried the strange road now. Every day I struggled to write down and restore a true youth, so those memories rushed toward me unambiguously, followed by laughing and crying. Memories and me, that year's love letter, we have been crazy time, hello, old time.
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